


Arils

by CrashDevil (cjdevlin19)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjdevlin19/pseuds/CrashDevil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You know, she never talked 'bout it. Whatever happened, she never opened up, not in all these years. It's like she weren't allowed to tell me what you did. Like someone forced her not to tell."   </p>
<p>Sherlock snatched his pen back and shoved the papers into his coat. "If she was forced into being silent, it was not by me." He said, before rushing out of the club.</p>
<p>"What was that, Sherlock?" John asked, following him out into the parking lot.</p>
<p>Sherlock sighed. "I told you, Persephone had notoriously bad taste in men."</p>
<p>"Yeah. Abusives and junkies."</p>
<p>"I was both."<br/>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/>An old friend of Sherlock's shows up asking for help. Who is she and what is her real point of being there? Rating may go up later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An old friend

Sherlock stared at the wall. John was off with Mary and he was bored. No good cases, everyone finally happy to just ignore the not-dead detective. There was peace, while he worked out ways to take down Charles Magnussen. But now, boredom.   
      
Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs and knocked on his door. "Sherlock, you've got a visitor."  
      
"I didn't send for anyone. All the cases are boring. I said-" He cut himself off as he looked at the new arrival.  
      
A woman stood next to Mrs. Hudson, smiling politely. Her dark blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, hands in her jean pockets. She looked just like she had the last time he remembered seeing her.   
         
"Persephone." He said, surprised.  
      
"I go by 'Diana' now. It's, uh, easier." She said, walking forward.  
      
"Persephone's not boring." He said, standing up.  
      
"Yes, well." Diana said, looking over her shoulder at Hudson, who was still standing there, watching with interest.  
    
"Oh! Well... If you need anything." She said before departing.  
   
"I'm glad you're not dead." Diana said, sitting in an empty chair. "I always believed that Moriarty was real."  
     
"You follow the news?" He meant, 'you follow my news?'.  
      
"I read John's blog. I used to read your site, too, but... you shut it down."  
    
"His version is much more popular."  
    
"Since when have you ever cared about what is popular?"  
     
He nodded and waited a moment. When she didn't say anything, he drove the conversation forward. "You aren't here for a social visit."  
      
"No. My husband is missing. He left a note saying he was leaving me, but he won't answer his phone and I can't find him. His family doesn't know where he is, or they aren't telling. I just... if he did leave me, fine. I just want him to sign this dissolution. If he is in trouble, though... He gambles and... If you could find him, get him to sign. Please."  
     
"Normally, I would say 'no'..." Sherlock started as John walked into the flat. "...just on the principle that it's boring, but I'm sure I owe it to you. I'll take the case."  
    
"Oh, we've got a case?"  
     
"Nothing stimulating. John, this is Persephone."  
    
"Diana. It's nice to meet you." She said, standing to shake his hand.  
      
"Says he owes you?" John asked, taking her hand.  
      
"Oh. We're old friends from University." Diana said as Sherlock just ignored the question.  
      
"The husband... name?" Sherlock asked.  
      
"Rhys... Meyers. He's -"  
      
"Tall, heavy-set, rugby player, idiot. I remember him." Sherlock said, jealousy gripping him deep.  
      
"You're not allowed." She mumbled, low and angrily, recognizing the curt jealousy in his words. She breathed a shaky, angry sigh. "He frequents a billiard hall. International Lounge."  
      
She turned to Sherlock and handed him a business card. "My mobile's on that, if you have any questions." She said before nodding to John and walking out.  
      
John looked between the door and Sherlock, who was putting on his coat and scarf. "She's a friend from uni? You don't have friends."  
      
"Not any more. But who's to say I didn't have any at Cambridge?" Sherlock said, walking toward the door.  
      
~~~~~  
      
"So, who is she to you? Not just a friend. I saw that tension back there." John asked, sitting across from Sherlock as they waited for Rhys to show up.   
     
"Persephone has notoriously terrible taste in men. Drug addicts and men who beat her. If her husband is a continuation of that pattern, then he likely just left her and we can get these papers signed and move on." Sherlock said, intentionally changing the subject.  
      
"Come on, Sherlock. Who is she?" John wasn't going to be dissuaded.  
      
"She was Persephone Armstrong at Cambridge. We met in a class I was auditing. I haven't seen her in several years."  
      
"And you owe her this boring case, why?"  
      
Sherlock just stared around the dimly lit room.  
      
An hour later, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and dialed her number. "He isn't at the billiard hall. No one has seen him in days. Is there anywhere else he frequents? A flop house or drug den, perhaps?"  
     
"He doesn't do that! He's a gambler and a cheater. He's an arsehole and we're always fighting but he'd never do that. He isn't you, Sherlock."  
     
There was a second where Diana thought Sherlock might say something apologetic, but he returned with, "A whore house, then. A cheater of his intelligence always has a favourite brothel."  
      
He could hear her seething through the phone. "There's a strip joint. The girls will do anything for the right amount. It's The Green Lady, I think."  
      
Sherlock stood, phone still to his ear. "At least you have one good thing to say about your husband, then. He isn't me." He said, before hanging up and walking towards the door, John running to catch up.  
      
~~~~~~~  
     
The music in the club was loud and the bass vibrated their bodies as John and Sherlock walked around the building lit in neons. Sherlock caught sight of his target in a corner booth with two strippers dancing in front of him.  
      
"Rhys Meyers?" Sherlock asked, walking up.  
      
Rhys looked around the dancers. "Sherlock feckin' 'olmes. What do you want?"  
      
"Your wife called upon me. She said you weren't answering your phone and wanted me to make sure you had really left her."  
      
"Bloody Hell! I wrote the bitch a note."  
      
"All right. Now, if you would just sign this, please." Sherlock said, pulling the divorce papers out of John's hands.  
     
"Whassat, then?"  
      
"Well, it's a Dissolution of Marriage. You 'wrote the bitch a note' and it seems she wrote you one back." Sherlock responded, handing Rhys a pen.  
      
"Gone for a day and she already ran back to you." Rhys mumbled as he flipped through the papers and signed without reading them. He looked at Sherlock for a moment before handing the papers back.  
    
"You know, she never talked 'bout it. Whatever happened, she never opened up, not in all these years. It's like she weren't allowed to tell me what you did. Like someone forced her not to tell."  
      
Sherlock snatched his pen back and shoved the papers into his coat. "If she was forced into being silent, it was not by me." He said, before rushing out of the club.  
    
"What was that, Sherlock?" John asked, following him out into the parking lot.  
    
Sherlock sighed. "I told you, Persephone had notoriously bad taste in men."  
      
"Yeah. Abusives and junkies."  
      
"I was both."  
      
John stopped in his tracks. "What?!"  
      
Sherlock got into a taxi and waited for John to close the gap. "Persephone and I were a couple. We met at the time in my life right after I first found opiates. I was extremely high one night, she said something I didn't appreciate and I hit her. And I didn't stop until I realised she had gone limp. An hour later, she was in hospital and I was in rehab."  
     
"And why can't she talk about that?"  
     
"I assume that would be Mycroft, protecting me when he should have been protecting her." The two sat in silence until the taxi stopped outside of 221 Baker Street and Sherlock handed the papers to John.   
    
"Will you bear the bad news? It'll be less dramatic from you." Sherlock said, getting out and going inside without waiting for an answer. John was fine with that, though, because now he could find answers.


	2. Dissolve

John knocked on the flat's door and held out the papers, almost apologetically, once she opened it. "Oh, you found him?" She said, taking the papers and offering him to come in. He obliged as she flipped through the contract.  
     
"Well, he signed. That's good. Signed away his alimony, the idiot." She set the papers down and smiled politely at John. "Would you like some coffee, Dr. Watson?"  
     
"That'd be lovely. Thank you."  
     
She busied herself with the coffee while John tried to think of a way to breach the subject. He settled on the direct route. "Sherlock told me about what he did."  
     
"I'm not supposed to talk about that."  
     
"I don't think Mycroft would mind you telling me. I already know. I mean, it's Sherlock so he only gave me the basics, but..."  
     
She set a mug in front of him and sat on her couch. She took a deep breath and smiled, bitterly. "Sherlock was auditing a class I was taking. A writing course. He was a graduate student and I was a first year but I knew who he was. And I was amazed. The fact that there was someone that clever just metres away in a class for freshmen... He wasn't very nice to the professor, though. One day, he made a joke about the man. It was a rude joke and I really shouldn't have laughed, but I did. And he looks over at me, the only one in the room laughing, and he smiles.  
     
It was such a baffling thing, to make that man smile. After class, he came up to me and introduced himself. He said I was the only one laughing because I was the only one who understood the joke. He started chatting me up and... Two weeks later, I was Sherlock Holmes' girlfriend and I ceased to be anything else." She took a sip of her coffee.  
     
"We got a flat together because the matron of my dorm kept finding him in my room. It wasn't until I was completely invested that I realized how often he was using. I should have just gone back to the dorms, written him off. But I was convinced that I was meant to be with him. Even after all the signs that he'd never care for me anywhere near his devotion to cocaine. Do you want to know how I met Mycroft?" She asked, bitterly trying to sound amused. John nodded.  
     
"Sherlock O.D.'d. He was barely breathing, heart rate almost non-existent. I panicked, called Mycroft, who I'd never even spoken to. I expected him to come take Sherlock to a hospital but he just came in without a word with a shot of epinephrine. It was straight out of Pulp Fiction. Once Sherlock was breathing again, Myc whirled around the flat, gathering all the drugs, from places I hadn't even known existed. Then, he told me to keep his brother hydrated and left.  
     
Thought maybe he would come to his senses after, but he just went and bought more. I stayed, though, because I was an idiot. And it took a lot to get me to give up on us. Specifically, the incident I'm not supposed to talk about." Diana put down her coffee cup and looked to John. She then folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them.

 

"It was the night before finals started and he was extremely high. I made the mistake of mentioning that I didn't think he should be high before his major tests and he backhanded me. I stood up, so indignant because he had hit me, and he hit me again. And again. I, mercifully, lost consciousness after he started to kick me."  
     
John hoped he was hiding the horror that was running through him. The thought of his friend beating this woman in a opium-fuelled rage was just a bit more than he imagined.   
     
"I woke up the next day, in hospital, Mycroft sitting in the chair next to my bed. He had a clipboard on his lap. He rattled off a perfectly political apology and then, he asked me to sign a non-disclosure agreement. He said that he saw great things in the future for his brother and he couldn't let Sherlock's mistakes get in the way of that. In exchange for signing and ceasing contact with Sherlock, the Holmes' would pay my hospital bills and my tuition at any university I chose. I couldn't stay at Cambridge, Mycroft called me a 'trigger'. Sherlock might see me and relapse out of guilt. I signed, not because I needed the money or because Mycroft intimidated me into it, but because I saw great things for Sherlock, too. I wasn't even planning to tell anybody what happened.   
      
So I left, moved to Wales and finished out my schooling there. Rhys followed me to Cardiff. I thought it was kismet, but I think Rhys just figured out where I was transferring and followed. I'm fairly certain I only became a solicitor because the Holmes family paid my way. So, it worked that way."  
     
John didn't know how to respond. She was obviously intelligent, but her self-worth definitely left something to be desired. "I'm so sorry he did that to you. But... He's not like that any more."  
     
"Well, I would hope not!" She said, with smirk. "You better not be letting him do drugs."  
    
"He spends all his time solving crimes, helping people."  
     
"He doesn't do it to help people, John. You aren't that delusional. You've done a lot to humanize him, and that's good, he needs it, but he's addicted to the puzzles as much as he was addicted to the mindlessness of coke. And I'm sure he's still a misanthropic arse. He's not the same, but really... he is."  
     
"I suppose you are right. But he'd never do that now. Nicotine is his only drug now." She smiled politely. "Well, I just..." John stood, prompting her to follow suit. "Can I ask a personal question?" 

Diana nodded, with a small smile. John sighed, awkwardly.  
     
"Mycroft keeps calling Sherlock a virgin. You two lived together... Is he really? Too personal. I'll leave." He said, heading for the door.  
     
"Doctor." John turned back to look at her. "Never all the way. He only ever wanted it when he was high and I wouldn't go through with it because-"  
     
"He was high. Got it. So, when you say not all the way... Baseball system, how far? Leaving." He said, with a nod.  
    
~~~~~~~~~~~  
    
John stalked into Sherlock's flat, and straight into the kitchen. He had stopped off to be comforted by Mary, who reminded him that he knew Sherlock and that wasn't who he was any more.  
     
"What did you learn?" Sherlock asked, looking out the window with his violin perched on his shoulder.  
     
"Oh, what did I learn? I learned that you are an indescribably terrible human being, that Mycroft cares about you a lot more than he lets on, and after everything you did, that woman still loves you. I learned the universe will pretty much let you get away with whatever it is you want to do, and you really are still a virgin."   
     
"She said she's still in love?" Sherlock asked, nonchalantly, still staring out the window.  
    
"No. But it's nice that you picked up that one. So, not only did Sherlock Holmes have a girlfriend, you had a live-in and still managed to stay a virgin. How?!"  
     
Sherlock set his violin against the wall and grabbed his coat. "I only ever cared to try to fill that need when I was high and that was the one time she wouldn't go through with it. So, there was a lot of groping and fumbling with each other and then she would run off to be alone and I would occupy myself with experiments or reading."

"Well, how far did you-" John stopped ranting and turned around at the sound of the door opening and closing.

Sherlock walked outside as Diana stepped out of a taxi.   
     
"Hi." She said, pulling her coat around her tighter.  
     
"Hi."  
     
"Did you know I'd be coming?"  
     
"I was expecting you tomorrow. But I did see the taxi sitting out here for 20 minutes. Must've cost a fortune." Sherlock said.  
     
"No, actually. He saw my indecision and turned the meter off for me." She sighed deeply. "I got divorced today."  
     
"I know. I handed the idiot the pen."  
     
She chuckled, wryly. "He must've been so hacked off to see you."  
    
"Well, that's half of why you sent me, isn't it?"  
     
"You know me so well."   
     
"No. I know people. I never really took the time to know you." He said, softly.  
     
"The way you said that, it sounds almost like an apology."  
     
"I don't apologize."  
     
"Well, that hasn't changed. John spent a bit of time trying to convince me that you had changed a lot since Cambridge."  
     
"Not much." Sherlock said, honestly.  
     
Diana looked at her watch. "I have work early in the morning, but I'd like to catch up with the new Sherlock. It has been a decade. Would you be opposed to getting coffee or maybe lunch tomorrow?" She asked.  
     
Sherlock smiled, that smile she remembered from all those years ago. "I have your number. I'm a prolific texter. We'll make plans tomorrow." He said.  
     
She nodded. "Tomorrow." She started walking down the street, hoping to catch a cab at the corner. As soon as Sherlock closed the door to 221 behind him, her mobile phone started ringing. 'unknown number' shined up from her screen. She answered anyway, almost certain of who was calling.

"Get in the car." The caller growled as a black sedan pulled up to the curb.


	3. Styx

What Diana remembered of Mycroft Holmes' voice was calm, even mocking, but never rageful. Had she not been expecting the backlash from Big Brother (and she dearly loved to call him that), she wouldn't have even recognized who was calling.  
     
The car deposited her at an old warehouse, which she entered without a thought. Mycroft was standing, leaning on a cane that she knew was mostly for fashion. "You were NOT to contact him. You signed a contract-"  
     
She held her hand up. "I'll stop you there. I know you've followed my progress and know I'm a solicitor. I don't sign things without reading them and if I suspect I am about to breach a contract, I make certain the terms. 'Subject A is to cease all contact with William Sherlock Scott Holmes, hereto after referred to as Subject B, until such a time as Subject A is no longer considered to be a trigger of Subject B's drug use'. YOU are the one who neglected to include terms as to who should determine my status as a trigger. If Sherlock can run around in back alleys with homeless blokes and junkies without being triggered, then feeling guilty over nearly killing me most definitely isn't a trigger."  
    
"You ridiculous woman! You aren't a trigger because he feels guilty. You're a trigger because you make him want to be normal. He wants to be mundane and... watch telly and engage in carnal pleasures, things he can't lower himself to while in full control of his faculties. You are the whole reason he developed such a problem."  
      
"You can't pin his addiction on me. He was using before I even met him. Now, this conversation is over. I wasted 10 years on that moron Rhys because I was afraid to contact the man I truly cared for. I'm going to catch up with an old friend and you aren't going to stand in my way."  
     
"And you can be sure?" Mycroft asked, with a sneer.  
     
"You know who I work for, yes?"  
     
"I'm sure your firm handles many clients."  
      
"No. You know who I work for." It wasn't a question. "He's fairly protective of those of us loyal to him. Do you really want to be on his bad side? I don't think you do."  
    
Mycroft's face went cold. "Quite."  
     
"I'll see myself out, Mycroft." She said, heading toward the door.  
      
"I hope you know what you're doing. He might not leave you alive this time."  
     
"Concern noted, Mr. Holmes." She said, walking out the door and getting into the car.   
      
~~~~~~~~~~~  
      
"How did it go?"   
      
She set her purse on her desk and hung her coat off her chair. "The elder Holmes Brother shouldn't be an issue."  
      
"And Sherlock? Did he take the bait?"   
      
She turned to her employer and smiled. "Hook, line and sinker."  
      
"And you? How are you feeling after these encounters with the Holmes'? Are you still up for this?"  
     
"Sir, I would do anything you ask of me, you know that. The fact that I get to stick it to the Holmes boys, well, that is just icing on the cake." She said, as he walked in front of her and put a hand on her shoulder.   
      
"I am very happy to hear that. The last thing we need is for those old feelings to reintroduce." His hand moved up the caress her cheek.   
      
"I wouldn't want to give you a pressure point to push, sir. I pride myself on being your only employee not being... persuaded."   
      
"You aren't my employee. You, technically, work for Harrison & Lomb. But we both know, you are persuaded by other things."  
     
She smiled, brightly. On paper, she worked for the law firm of Harrison and Lomb, the firm that took care of all of Charles Magnussen's legal work. But Magnussen had made it very clear that he was only interested in keeping the firm on retainer so long as Persephone Diana Meyers was his, and only his, solicitor. Clive Harrison had given her over without a question. She hadn't even seen the firm in months.   
     
She'd been upset about it to start, but she realized quickly that Charles was a powerful friend to have. Fortunately for her, she was an open book. The only things she kept secret were the things she was contracted to keep. And that's why, despite his prodding, she would never tell Magnussen what Sherlock had done. But she wasn't above finding new points for him to press.  
     
"Yes. My bonus had better be amazing." She said, spinning out of his grasp. "I'm thinking... Ferrari, Bugatti, maybe Ducati."  
     
"I was thinking Burberry, Hermes, maybe Dior."  
     
"Oh, you know, I love my designers."   
     
"How about some Tiffany?" He asked, his fingers gliding against the back of her neck.  
     
"Earrings. I don't wear necklaces." She said, as her phone made a notification sound. She pulled her phone out and grinned. "I think he might've taken the whole pole. He says coffee is out because he has a meeting in the morning, but lunch in the afternoon should be perfect."  
    
"A client? If he has a case, he won't have time for you." Charles said, a slight furrow coming to his brow.  
      
"Oh, no. It's just his parents. They fly out tomorrow afternoon to go back to Oklahoma. They just want to say goodbye. I'll make sure to catch them on their way out."


	4. PTSD

The next day, at just a little after 12, Diana walked up to 221 Baker Street and knocked. Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a smile. " Oh, Mrs. Meyers! Here to see Sherlock, luv?"  
     
"We've got a lunch date. Is he up?"   
     
"Actually, he's got some visitors up there already, let me just..."  
    
"No, it's quite all right. I'll just let him know I'm here, and then I'll wait downstairs." She said, beaming a smile to the older woman.   
    
"Well, all right, dear. I'll put on a kettle. You can have a cuppa while you wait."

"Thank you so much." Diana said, walking up the stairs. She knocked, then smiled as Sherlock opened the door. "I know you've still got guests in, but I wanted to let you know I was here. I'll be down with Mrs. Hudson."  
     
"Is that Persephone?" Mrs. Holmes asked.  
     
"It's Diana now." Sherlock and Diana said, simultaneously.  
     
Sherlock stepped out of the way so that Diana could step into the flat.   
     
"Are you two back together?" Sherlock's father asked.  
     
"No! No, we are just-" Sherlock started.  
    
"Catching up."  
     
"Are you supposed to be catching up? Didn't you sign a contract?" Mrs. Holmes asked.  
     
"I'm well within the terms. Speak with Mycroft. I already have." Diana said.  
    
Sherlock filled with rage at the thought of Mycroft pulling her off the street into one of his nondescript cars, as he was fond to do. "And what contract do you mean? The contract you had Mycroft bully her into signing while she was broken and scared?"  
    
His mother's face went cold. "And who put her in that state? Not us. This is why we didn't tell you, Sherlock. Like it, or not, we did what was right by you. And everyone got something out of it. She would never have gotten to be a lawyer if we hadn't paid her way. It's not as if she's smart."  
     
"Right by me, yes. But definitely not the right thing. You sent the woman I loved to Wales, to marry a man who could never be good enough for her. And don't presume to know her intelligence, mother. The only stupid thing she ever did was date a disaster like me." Sherlock opened the door wide and stepped out of the way.  
     
"Now, you have a plane to catch and I have to catch up with her. We lost 10 years. You understand."  
     
His mother walked out without a word, but his father stopped in front of him. "You'll have to call and apologize."  
     
"Only when you and Mycroft do." He said, before shutting the door on his father.  
     
Diana looked at him, in genuine shock. "I can't believe you just did that."  
     
Sherlock turned to her. "It was long overdue. Mycroft will get a similar treatment when next I see him."   
     
Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf, wrapping them around him. "So, lunch. There's a wonderful place called Angelo's. The owner is an acquaintance. He'll let us sit and talk as long as we want."  
     
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
     
"So, where to start?" Sherlock asked, as Angelo brought over coffee for them both.  
   
"Well, what would you like to know? What do you know? I mean, that's your thing these days, right? You've honed that observation skill to the point of almost psychic ability."  
     
"It's not magic. It's science, just like chemistry is. But if you must know my deductions of you... Your clothes are designer. Old, but well-maintained. Speaks to your upbringing. You were poor so you enjoy the nice things but remember what it was like without them. You won't throw that suit out until you absolutely can't be seen in it.  
     
Your nails are kept short, without polish because you bite them when you get stressed. You've been working exceptionally hard at the left thumb, it's been bleeding. I'd say work, if I didn't know about your marital status. You work for an extremely high profile law firm, but you can manage a long lunch on a Monday, says they don't have a lot of work piled on you. They save you for specific cases because they know where you shine.  
     
You were married for almost a decade, but you never had children. This could be because you were busy, but it's more likely that you knew the marriage wouldn't last and didn't want to bring a child into that environment. I say this because you described him as a gambler, a cheater and an arsehole. I assume you fell out of love years ago, if you ever loved him, at all."  
     
"How did you know about Wales?"   
     
"Oh, John told me."  
     
Diana smiled. "I thought I loved him. I wouldn't have married that burden if I didn't think so. But I think... I couldn't have. I was still in love with you. Was. Not sayin' I am, now."  
     
"Of course."  
    
They sat in silence for a moment. "So... The contract you signed, what were the terms?"  
     
"Leave Cambridge. Cease contact with you until such a time as I am no longer deemed a trigger of your drug use."  
     
"You deemed yourself safe?"  
     
She nodded. "If you could survive The Woman and James Moriarty, faking your own death, without falling into your old habits, then you can handle me."  
    
"You know about The Woman?"  
     
"You forget I read the blog. And as a solicitor at a high-powered firm, of course, I know certain criminal elements."  
   
"Did you keep The Woman out of jail?"  
     
"No, did you?"  
     
Sherlock smiled. "I kept her neck off the chopping block."  
     
"Literally?"  
     
He nodded. "And did Moriarty do business with your firm, as well?"  
     
"Not that I know of, but he wouldn't have used that name, now, would he?"  
     
"Unlikely. So... you moved to Wales to get away from me, married a moron because he wasn't me, and spent most of your adult life working to make a name for yourself. Any new talents or hobbies?"  
     
"You tell me. What sort of hobbies do you deduce I have?"  
     
"You have calloused fingertips. Not work related, of course. You've picked up a stringed instrument, guitar by the callous on your right thumb. You strum."  
     
"I also sing now. In front of people. There are several open mics I go to and I rather enjoy karaoke."  
    
"You have a lot of time on your hands. What work do you even do?"  
    
"I, mostly, draft documents. Like that dissolution Rhys never read. I do a lot of cessations and contracts. It's incredibly boring and I know how you hate to be bored."  
     
"And what companies do you work with? Any of note?"  
     
"No. I mean, the firm is on retainer to a lot of wealthy people and criminals but... none worth noting." Diana couldn't help but be nervous. His questions about her work seemed to indicate he knew who she really worked for.  
    
"Well, I'm glad for your free time." Sherlock said, gently placing his hand over hers.   
     
As soon as those slender fingers lay over hers, her heart rate sky-rocketed. She realized she hadn't thought through all of the ramifications as her mind flashed to the last time those fingers had touched her and panic rushed through her. She forced a slow exhalation and a smile, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice. Of course, the King of Observation couldn't be fooled.  
     
"Are you all right?"  
     
"I'm fine."  
     
Sherlock pulled his hand away and went to take a drink of his coffee, but she wouldn't let her plan perish over a stupid thing like anxiety. She grabbed his hand and moved her chair closer to him. "It was an involuntary sympathetic nervous response. I really am fine. I mean... I adore you." She said, looking into his eyes. "After everything, and all this time, I still adore you. And if I have to battle a bit of post traumatic stupidity to be around you, Sherlock, I will just have to get the hell over it. I am fine."  
     
Sherlock looked down at her hand. "You were getting ready to run."  
     
"Only literally." She said, smiling up at him.  
     
As he looked down at her, she noticed an emotion in his gaze that she hadn't seen in years. Not lust, as Magnussen looked at her, or possessively, like Rhys always had. No, Sherlock Holmes had love in his eyes, and Diana couldn't help but wonder whether she was doing the right thing.   
   
As he leaned down to kiss her, Diana resigned to let it happen, see if any emotions popped up. Just as their lips touched, the large window behind her shattered, a bullet whizzing by their heads.   
     
Diana froze. She'd never been shot at, but Sherlock was no stranger to the situation. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her under the table as more bullets whizzed into the restaurant. As soon as she and Sherlock were out of sight, the barrage ended.  
     
Sherlock jumped up and ran to the window as Diana trembled beneath the table. Sherlock dropped down next to her after he was certain the assailants were gone. "Are you okay?"  
    
"I... Who? I..." She mumbled, looking around the restaurant.  
     
"Unfortunately, I've made many enemies. I promise I will find those responsible." He said, pulling her up to sit in the chair she'd vacated. He handed her a glass of water off a table to the left.   
     
"Are you okay?" He asked again.  
    
She looked around. "Are they alright?" She asked of the other patrons.  
     
"They don't matter. How are you? Bullet wounds, shock?"  
     
"I'm fine. Check on them." She said, taking a drink of the water.


	5. Bad Person

After the police had arrived and asked all their questions, she was sent home. She went back to her office, instead. As she sat down at her desk, Charles walked in.   
     
"How was lunch? Eventful?" He asked, a smirk on his lips and a sparkle behind his glasses.  
     
Something in his tone spoke more than the words he'd used. "Did you send a wet team to shoot at us?"  
     
"I sent a wet team to watch you. They were only to shoot if they saw an overt display of affection and they were not to hit anybody. Don't be upset. It was just to remind you of why you are there."  
     
"Is this how you reward loyalty, Charles? If you want me to get close enough to Sherlock to burn him, I might have to kiss the man! If I am willing to do that for you, even though his touch brings me panic, then you back off and bloody well let me do it!"  
     
Magnussen shook his head and backed out the door. "I can see you are going to be unreasonable about this. Come speak to me when you've calmed down."  
     
Diana flopped into her desk chair and dropped her head onto her desk. "What am doing? He's a completely different man, now. Why should I help this sadist put Sherlock under his thumb?" She whispered to herself.  
     
As she sat there, evaluating all of their interactions since she came back into his life, Diana realized that he definitely was not the same man. Sherlock Holmes was no longer the man she'd vowed revenge upon. Mycroft was exactly the same and she would still do almost anything to bring him down... But not at the expense of Sherlock.  
     
Was there any way that she could cease this plan without angering Charles? No, he would find some way to pressure her into continuing, though she didn't know what he could use except money. Was there a possibility of her tricking Charles into believing she had continued the ruse, without actually hurting Sherlock? Possibly, but not without Sherlock's assistance. And that would require explanations. She dreaded explanations.  
     
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
    
Diana knocked hard and waited, impatiently, at the door to 221 Baker Street. She was surprised when Sherlock opened the door, she'd been expecting the landlady.   
     
"I have to talk to you." She whispered as he took her hand. This time her heart started pounding, it wasn't from panic. There were nerves about the explanations, but this heart flutter was purely emotional. He pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her. Her breath caught in her chest as he grabbed her head and leaned down for a forceful kiss. Tears came to her eyes as his lips came together over hers.  
     
She pulled away, shaking her head. "I'm a terrible person." She whispered.  
     
"Why? Because you were sent to find pressure points for Charles Augustus Magnussen to push, and instead you fell back in love?"  
     
Diana wiped at her cheeks. "Of course, you know. How could I ever think myself clever enough to trick you?"  
     
"Well, if it helps, you've become a very good liar. I had to follow you. After the shooting, I assumed you would be going home, wanted to make sure you were all right. You went to the newsprint building. I've only figured it out several hours ago."  
     
"I'm sorry."  
     
"It's not your fault. He owns you, just like he does half of London."  
     
"He owns my career. If Magnussen fires me, the firm won't have any use for me. It's not as if I'm clever. The most extraordinary thing I ever did was being put in hospital by you."  
     
"That's not true." He said, leading her into the building and up to his flat.  
     
"It is. I only got the job at Harrison and Lommb because Magnussen wanted me. I wasn't top of my class. I've never been brilliant. That's why we couldn't last."  
     
"That was never our problem." Sherlock said, shutting his door to Hudson's prying eyes.   
     
"Really? Then what was?"  
     
"I couldn't do normal. I could do super-intelligent misanthrope or high. There was no in-between. Mycroft killed any chances I had at even faking normal. Mum did nothing to help. And I wasn't going to ask my father. The man's simple. John could best him in a word game."  
     
"You say that like John is stupid. He's a Bart's trained physician. He's clever. Not as clever as you, but who is?"  
     
"You are. You are as clever as I am, but you also manage to be normal. The only reason you weren't top of your class is because of me. You were uprooted from your life, placed a thousand miles away from anyone you knew and you were dating a moron who paid someone off to find out where you'd moved. You were depressed."  
     
"I didn't come here to be flattered or lied to."  
     
"I was in love with you, Persephone. And it was because you were brilliant and normal."  
     
"I wanted to help Charles bring you down. I volunteered. I wanted revenge." She said, sitting in John's lounge chair.  
     
"Understandable. I ruined your life. I deserve it." Sherlock said, sitting down.  
     
"Not any more. You're a different man now."  
     
"Not really." Sherlock said.  
     
"You keep saying that and I thought it too, but you are different. I think it's John. More than being sober, I think John changed you."  
     
"That's rubbish."  
     
"No, it's not. You are different, better. I'm different too, but worse."  
     
"What did you come here for?"  
     
"What?" Diana asked, shocked at his sudden shift.  
     
"You didn't come here to be flattered or lied to. So why did you come?"  
     
"I don't want revenge any more. I can't go through with the plan. But I can't back out. Charles won't let me. He'll compel me or he'll fire me, neither prospect is good. So... What can I do?"  
     
"What was the plan, exactly? Just find points for him?"  
     
"I couldn't tell Charles about what happened at uni, I signed a non-disclosure. So I was supposed to find pressure points, and create new ones if I couldn't find any."  
     
"And you haven't reported anything?"  
     
"He's going to expect a report soon. I expect he's going to count me as a pressure point, actually."  
     
"Give him pressure points, then. Tell him about my drug use, tell him about Redbeard. He already knows about Mycroft and John, but does he know about the Woman? Feed him information that seems useful but ultimately isn't."  
     
She nodded. It wasn't a particularly clever plan but it would likely work.   
     
"And you are going to tell me everything you know about Charles Augustus Magnussen."  
     
"Sherlock. I'm his solicitor. I know everything about him."  
     
"I don't want the information I can find on social media."  
     
"He owns half of London. You know that already. He owns half of the House of Royals, most of the House of Commons. The last 3 British Prime Ministers. He collects influential people. He hasn't breached Buckingham Palace, though and he whines about it all the time."  
     
"And he has evidence against each of these people?"  
     
"Yes. It would do him no good to threaten if he couldn't prove he was in power."  
     
" And where does he keep the evidence?"  
     
"In his home. Appledore. He says he's got a vault underneath the mansion where he keeps it all, nice and organized."  
     
"Have you seen this vault?"  
     
"Haven't been by his home, thank god."  
     
"Why thank god?"  
     
"That's where he takes the women he owns. The ones he actually owns, motivated by more than just money and career, like poor Janine."  
     
"Janine Hawkins." She clarified. "She's his secretary. Sorry, his P.A. She's real sweet, but not very bright. Whatever he has on her, it's got to be pretty bad. She comes in to work after nights at his place and she'll be covered in bruises, caked with make-up trying to hide it."  
     
Sherlock ran the name through his Mind Palace. A blank-faced woman stood in front of him wearing a purple bridesmaids gown. He didn't know the face to go with the name but he immediately recognized the dress.  
    
"Mary knows her. She'll be in the wedding. Convenient. I can use her."   
     
"Use her how, exactly?"  
    
"Don't know yet. Access, obviously."

Diana smiled. Sherlock, in this mode, ready to use a woman to get what he needs, that's the Sherlock she remembered.


End file.
